


Let Love Be the Food of the Soul

by ParmeJeanneCheese



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anthony has a shit sleep schedule, Anthony is a chef, Anthony is bisexual, Anthony is good with kids, Author is ace and doing their level best to approximate attraction, But he can bake, Everything the author knows about restaurants they learned from ratatoullie, Ezra cannot cook, Ezra has clothes from last century, Ezra is a food blogger, Ezra is insecure about his body, Good AUmens, Human AU, M/M, croissant as plot device, cw for food in pretty much every chapter, not abandoned author is just a disaster, restaurant, this author responds to comments because they are the food of the author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParmeJeanneCheese/pseuds/ParmeJeanneCheese
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley was a rising star on the London food scene. At least, he was, until he lost his job at Eden. With his reputation in ruins, Anthony takes the only job he can find: porter at Bistro 666 under the infamous chef Belle Z. Bub. It’s a dead end job, and he knows it. His dream of opening his very own restaurant seems so far out of reach now, it would take a real miracle.Ezra Fell is the owner of a book shop by day and food blogger (@Ezra_Eats) by night (and weekend, and sometimes day when he doesn’t want to sell books). He’s eaten at food trucks, Michelin star restaurants, and everything in between, except Bistro 666. His stomach is almost always full, and yet, his heart is so empty. He knows that he is well past his prime, but he still holds on to the hope that, one day, he will find love (ideally in a restaurant).
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens), mostly Aziraphale and Crowley though
Comments: 70
Kudos: 111





	1. Mise En Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta!
> 
> Well y'all, welcome to my first Good Omens fanfic. Hope you enjoy!

The basement of Bistro 666 went by many names. It was “the kitchen” to patrons, “downstairs” to the front of the house, and “Hell” to those who worked in it. The descent to Hell was short and steep. It was so treacherous, in fact, that a dumbwaiter system had been installed to decrease the number of broken plates. This had little effect because most of the plates were broken by Executive Chef Belle Z. Bub. Chef Bub was known mostly for her foul temper and carnivorous appetite. She often reduced her employees to tears within their first shift. The turnover rate was as fast-paced as her orders, and those who remained became as bitter and cantankerous as their boss.

Hence the moniker “Hell.”

Anthony J. Crowley happened to be one of the unfortunate souls employed at Bistro 666. He may have been the most unfortunate of the souls, as his job was to clean every inch of the establishment from floor to literal ceiling. He worked six days a week from close (midnight) until every surface, dish, and glass were spotless. The restaurant wasn’t large, but it still usually took him around six hours. The hours were shit, but it paid the bills and he could, for the most part, avoid everyone else. In fact, the only interaction he had had with Chef Bub was the day he had been hired.

* * *

Chef Bub shifted her glare from Anthony’s CV to Anthony. “So. You’re Anthony J. Crowley.”

“Yes, Chef,” he replied, careful to keep his voice and facial expression flat.

“You received a BTEC Level 3 Technical Level in Professional Cookery for Professional Chefs (Kitchen and Larder).”

“Yes.”

“You worked at Pott’s Pies as soon as you were old enough to get a job.”

“Yes.”

“You used all of your savings to attend Le Cordon Bleu where you graduated with a Diplome de Cuisine.”

“Yes.”

“You were hired at Eden, Gabriel’s vegan restaurant with the rooftop garden, where you worked for 14 years, slowly working your way up the ranks. You were top choice for sous chef this year.”

“Yes.”

“Gabriel fired you after one of the four horsemen gave Eden a bad review.”

Anthony suppressed a grimace. “Yes.”

“And you want to work at Bistro 666, an establishment that specializes in smoked meats and in-house butchery, as a porter.”

“Yes.”

“Gabriel and I dated for a while,” Chef Bub disclosed in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I dumped him when I realized that the man was an absolute wanker. All his ‘pure food’ bullshit. It’s the kind of stuff only Raven Sable would enjoy.” She looked at Anthony with something that may have been pity. He knew better than to respond, so she continued. “I’ll hire you.”

“Thank—”

She raised a hand to cut him off. “For a year. You make a deal with the Devil, and you pay the price. A year from today you’ll be fired. You’re better than this, and you know it. You could be ‘Chef Crowley.’ I get that you need time to get back on your feet, so I’ll give you that time. No more, no less. Understood?”

“Yes, Chef.”

* * *

It was day 133 of his 365 days of employment, and Anthony was tired. He’d finished later than normal, around 6:45, thanks to the mess the two meathead butchers, Hastur and Ligur, had left behind at their station. In a zombie-like state, he made his way to South Kensington station where the Tube was full of people on their daily commutes and tourists eager to beat the crowds. He had just enough energy to pick up a small pastry at Nutter’s Cafe just as it opened at 7:00 and crash at his flat by 7:15.

* * *

Nutter’s Cafe was the brainchild of Agnes Nutter, legendary cookbook author of The Nice and Simple Recipes of Agnes Nutter. The cafe and its secret recipes had been passed down by her children, and the cafe was owned by Anathema Device since her mother had retired five years prior. Anathema was affable despite her goth quirks and occult dabblings. Her boyfriend, Newton Pulsifer, was overwhelmingly normal besides his lack of coordination. The two of them, along with a few other baristas and pastry chefs, ran the opening shift during weekdays.

On more days than not over the past five or so months, their first customer of the day was a red-haired man dressed in black, tight-fitting clothing. His walk could only be described as a saunter, as that seemed to be the only way he could coordinate his gangly limbs. His age was a subject of debate among the staff. There were many conflicting aspects to his appearance. The outfits, bold tattoos, and wiry forearms suggested a twenty-something, but the flecks of silver in his hair, rough skin, and reserved attitude implied early forties.

And then there was the matter of his sunglasses. The man always wore large aviator glasses even when the sky was dark. This only added to his aura of mystery. Were they hiding bloodshot eyes? An eye disease? His identity? The only thing they knew for sure was the name he gave for his orders: Crowley.

Nutter’s Cafe had another regular, and his name was Ezra Fell. He was the opposite of Crowley in almost every way. Whereas Crowley was angled and concave, Ezra was soft and rounded. His clothes were light neutrals with pastel blue accents and would have looked quite stylish in the late 19th century. Fluffy white hair made a halo to match his angelic personality.

Ezra beamed brightly as he entered. “Good morning, Mr. Pulsifer!”

“Good morning, Mr. Fell. Your usual?”

“Please, and thank you, dear boy.” He paid and took a table for two in the back corner near the window. From his faded leather messenger bag, he pulled out a contrasting sleek and modern laptop.

“Your hot cocoa and butter croissant, sir.” Newt set them down on the table.

“Thank you, dear boy. It smells wonderful as always.”

Newt mumbled something between “thank you” and “you’re welcome” and scurried back to the kitchen, but not without tripping on the leg of a chair. Ezra chuckled softly and took a sip of the cocoa. It was as rich in a way that blossomed in his chest and made him think of all the romance novels he had read that attempted to capture the physical sensation of love, and it was the reason he ordered the same thing day after day.

Ezra Fell was the owner of a bookshop by day and a popular food blogger by night (and weekends. And sometimes brunch if he didn’t want to sell books that day). He had eaten all over the city, from food trucks to fine dining. He rarely went to the same place twice. If he did repeat a restaurant, he always made sure to order something different. Of course, he had his favorites that he returned to from time to time, but with so many places to go and so many dishes to try, there simply wasn’t time in the world or room in his stomach. That was why Ezra’s patronship at Nutter’s Cafe was such an honor to Anathema.

Over the years the two went from acquaintances to friends. Anathema had been the one to suggest that he start the food blog, and Ezra had been the one to urge her to begin dating Newt. Since then, they had grown quite close and often confided in each other about their troubles and in matters of the heart. Anathema had become fluent at reading his tells, and that was how she knew there was something weighing on his mind. Ezra was not secretive, but he was reserved, so the situation required some strategy on her behalf. When there was a lull in the number of customers, she went on break and approached his table.

“Hello, my dear.” He gave her his trademark smile, but the twinkle was missing from his eyes.

Anathema took the seat opposite him. Best to start with a generic question. “How’s the shop?”

“Well stocked.”

“And the blog?”

“It’s going well, but I’m afraid my attempts to get a reservation at Bistro 666 have been thwarted once again.”

Anathema hummed and allowed the conversation to pause. It was only when Ezra exhaled softly and let his shoulders drop that she knew he was ready to talk.

“Is something going on? Your aura has been rather dull lately.”

“It’s nothing to worry about, my dear.”

“But it is something.” She shifted forward in her seat and lowered her voice. “I’m here, Ezra. I’m your friend. You can talk to me.”

His eyes darted away from her to Newt who had just spilled some powdered sugar on his apron. “I’m glad that Newt has you.”

“I’m glad that I have Newt. We are happy together.”

“And I am happy for you. I hope you know that,” Ezra said, his blue eyes wide open and earnest. Anathema nodded, encouraging him to go on. He sighed deeply and looked down. “I know it’s selfish, but I want something like that for myself.”

“I want that for you too. It’s not selfish,” she reassured him.

“It’s not that I’m unhappy. I have my books. I have my blog. I’ve got my godson, and I’ve got you and Newt. And for most of the day, I feel perfectly content. It’s when I’m alone in bed at night that I find myself wishing that I had someone with me.”

“Oh, Ezra…”

“The books just make it all seem so easy, as if you just meet the right person because Fate decides it’s time.”

“You know just as well as I do that books aren’t perfect reflections of life,” she said. “According to that tarot reading I gave you, Fate has a lot in store for you. Your man, he’s passionate and loving, even if he’s a little rough around the edges. I know he’s out there. You just haven’t met him yet.”

“What if I have met him and he just doesn’t like me? What if he thinks that I’m unattractive?” Ezra folded his arms over his stomach as all his fears boiled to the surface. “I’m a year away from 40. I’m much too old for dating, and hookups certainly aren’t my style either. I’m—I know what I look like: soft, frumpy—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Ezra. You are a beautiful man, on the inside and out. Anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you.” Anathema rested her hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Besides, you haven’t met him yet. I’d be able to tell from your aura.”

* * *

Adam Young’s favorite day of the week was not Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, as it was for most kids his age. Instead, his favorite day of the week was Tuesday. On Tuesdays he went to a cooking class. The class itself was fun, especially because he was allowed to hold a knife and use a stove with real fire (not like the lame electric one he had at home). But there were two people that made the class even better, and their names were Pippin and Anthony.

Pippin was the same age as him (11). She had no interest in cooking, but her parents had enrolled her under the insistence that it was an “important life skill”. Of course, she rebelled on the basis of sexism and argued that she wouldn’t have to do this if she were a boy. Her parents refused to budge on the matter, so Pippin usually spent classes intentionally burning her dishes or seasoning them excessively. She had earned the nickname “Pepper” after adding so much to her pasta that it looked as if there were ants crawling over her plate.

Anthony was the teacher, and he was the epitome of cool. His hair was such a shade of red that his head looked as if it were on fire. The tattoo on his face was of a snake, and the one on his left forearm was a giant knife. This made him look like he was in a gang, which really enhanced his cool factor. But the coolest thing about Anthony wasn’t his hair or his tattoos: it was that he was funny and knew how to make anyone feel better when a dish didn’t turn out right or when they nicked themself with a knife or cheese grater. He wasn’t like most adults who brushed off what kids had to say. He really listened and cared and responded.

So, all things considered, regular Tuesdays were the best day of the week. But this Tuesday was even better because after cooking class, Adam was going out to dinner with his godfather Ezra. Dinners with Ezra were the best because he always let Adam get dessert. Also, he could talk to Ezra about anything, even the things he couldn’t talk to his parents about. And Ezra always answered his questions, even when they were big questions about the universe. Really, the only sort of bad thing about Ezra was his poor navigation skills.

“Adam? Would you like me to call your parents?” Anthony offered.

“No. My godfather is picking me up.”

“Shall I call him then?”

“No, I think he’s just a bit lost. He’s got a poor sense of direction. Always says—”

Ezra walked in with flushed cheeks and a crooked bowtie. “I am so sorry I’m late. I just got a tad lost. I swear, I’m going to lose my own head next.”

“Hello, Ezra!” Adam ran up to greet his godfather. “Ezra, this is my cooking teacher, Anthony.”

The two men extended their hands to shake. “Pleased to meet you. Adam really enjoys your classes.”

“He’s a joy to have. Glad to meet you.” They stared at each other a tad longer than was necessary.

Adam’s eyes flickered between the two of them. He may have been 11, but he knew when adults needed his help. “Ezra and I are going out to dinner tonight.”

“Yes,” Ezra said. “We’re going to Pott’s Pies this evening. Do you happen to know of it?”

Anthony’s face lit up with joy. “Pott’s Pies? Of course I know it! I worked there for some time when I was younger. I’m good friends with Madame Tracy and Sargent Shadwell.”

“Do you want to come with us?” Adam asked with a touch more enthusiasm than he intended.

“Oh, I really wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t, I swear! Right, Ezra?”

“Adam,” he placed a hand on his godson’s shoulder, “it’s very kind of you to invite him, but I’m sure Anthony already has dinner plans.”

“I don’t, actually.”  
Ezra blinked in surprise. “Oh. Well. Jolly good, then. If you’re so inclined, that is.”

“That sounds great. I’ve been meaning to stop by and see Tracy and Shadwell again.” He shrugged on his moto jacket (also black to match the skinny jeans and henley). “Lead the way!”

The three of them set out for dinner with Adam grinning like he just got away with a clever prank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to holler at me in the comments!
> 
> I have literally no idea when this will be updated or how long it will be. I'd love to have an update schedule, but it's really just whenever my muse and brain decide to cooperate.


	2. Amuse Bouche

A few weeks ago, Ezra was wandering down a quiet side street when he caught the scent of roasting meat. Intrigued, he followed his nose to a small shop with its door propped open. The outside wasn’t much to look at, but he had learned long ago that a restaurant could not be judged by its exterior.

“Hello, dearie.” The person who greeted him was a middle-aged woman. Her lipstick and poncho clashed horribly, but they seemed to match her personality. “Welcome to Pott’s Pies. What can I get started for you?”

“It’s my first time in. What do you recommend?”

“We’ve got all the classics and then some.” She pointed out all the different pies and their fillings, and Ezra settled on a classic steak and potato.

He was the only one in the shop, so he struck up a conversation with her as he ate. He learned that Madame Tracy opened the restaurant after discovering a stack of her late mother’s recipes. Part way through, her husband emerged from the kitchen.

“Aye, laddie! What do you think yer doin’ with mah wife?” His finger waved uncomfortably close to Ezra’s face. “I warn ye, I c’n take pies out of th’oven with these hands! Without mitts!”

“Sir, I can assure you that—”

“And you! Jezebel!” He turned towards his wife, frothing at the mouth.

“Mr. Shadwell, calm down!” Madame Tracy rested her hand on his arm. “Mr. Fell and I were just having a nice chat. Why don’t you sit down and join us?”  
With a huff, Mr. Shadwell took the seat next to his wife. “Don’t go gettin’ any funny ideas.”

“I assure you that the only idea I have is finishing this scrumptious pie. I will also have you know that I am very much not interested in women.”

That last statement seemed to settle Shadwell down, and the three of them had a nice chat. The couple sent Ezra home with another pie for dinner which he ate while typing up a glowing review of their restaurant.

* * *

The walk to Pott’s Pies did not have any awkward silences, and that was because Adam was skilled at monologuing. For this Anthony was grateful, as he was a bit tongue-tied at the moment. He was trying very hard to not think about Ezra’s sparkling eyes or rosebud lips or adorable nose, and he was failing.

When they arrived, Ezra opened the door. Adam walked through first. When Anthony hesitated, he waved him in. Chivalry was not dead, apparently.

“After you.”

“Ngk.” Anthony stumbled over the threshold, and Ezra steadied him with a firm hand around his bicep. They locked eyes.

“Careful, dear boy.”

Anthony could still feel the warmth of his grasp through the sleeve of his shirt after he pulled away. He was trying very hard to say something and nothing at the same time because the things that were coming to mind were rather inappropriate for this stage of their relationship.

Not that they had a relationship.

“Hey, Anthony?” The two adults quickly shifted their gazes away from each other at Adam’s voice. “I think that woman is going to tackle you.”

On cue, a woman whose bright hair rivaled Anthony’s wrapped her arms around his waist. “A.J.!”

Ezra and Adam turned away politely and looked at the chalkboard menu while the two reconnected.

“Hey, Trace.” Anthony bent to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re getting stubbly.”

“Haven’t had a chance to shave in the past couple days.”

“And your hair is getting long.”

“I’ve kinda just been letting it grow.”

“And you look very tired.”

“Gee, thanks. If I’d known you were just going to insult me—”

Tracy clucked her tongue as she tucked a rogue strand behind his ear. “I’m just concerned. You really ought to take better care of yourself, dearie. I know things have been difficult for you.”

“It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.” He brushed her hand away. “Don’t worry about me, yeah?”

“Can’t help it.” She gave him one last squeeze before she pulled away and winked. “So, who’s the guy?”

Adam spun around, not bothering to pretend that he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “My name is Adam! Anthony teaches the cooking class I go to. And Ezra is my godfather.”

“Ezra? Of Ezra Eats?” Tracy asked.  
He dipped his head humbly. “I am.”

“I can’t thank you enough for the review you wrote up! We’ve never been busier.”

“How could I not rave about such magnificent pies? I think I am going to try one of your specials today.”

“Ah, yes! Pies!” Madame Tracy scurried back behind the counter. “What would you like today?”

Adam and Ezra placed their orders—chicken pot pie and chicken tikka, respectively.

“Anthony? I can cover you.”  
He blinked. “Are you sure?”  
“Absolutely. My treat for dragging you along with us.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll do the braised lamb.”

Tracy added his to the order. “That’ll be 30 pounds, please.”

Ezra opened his wallet. His expression shifted from one of ease to embarrassment. “Oh no.”  
“What’s wrong?” Adam asked.

“My ten pound note. I—I gave it away. I gave it away to a young man who was gazing longingly into a gastropub. I said, ‘Here, take this! Don’t let the sun go down on you here.’” His eyebrows knitted together with concern. “Oh, I do hope that I did the right thing. He looked so young and hungry and lonely!”

“I don’t think you could do the wrong thing,” Tracy said. “You’re an angel!”

“An angel,” Anthony echoed. He stared dreamily for a moment before he caught himself and snapped out of it. “I can cover you. Us, I mean.”

Ezra was fretting at the edges of his empty wallet. “Oh, I feel so terrible.”

“Not a big deal, I promise.” Anthony paid up. It was equivalent to just under four hours of work, but it seemed worth it.

Mr. Shadwell set to work on their orders, and the trio looked for a table. They found a rectangular table for four pushed against a wall in a secluded but well-lit area. Ezra and Adam sat on one side with Anthony across from Ezra. Once they settled in, Ezra and Adam chatted with each other. Anthony didn’t mind this, though, because it gave him ample time to observe the object of his rapidly growing infatuation. From behind the privacy of his sunglasses, he catalogued the witty banter, old-fashioned slang, and musical laughter. This man truly was an angel, Anthony decided. Nothing else could possibly explain the way he seemed to glow with kindness.

After a lull in their conversation, Adam turned to Anthony. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh… Sure?”

“Tracy called you ‘A.J.’ What’s the J stand for?”

“Adam! That is a personal question,” Ezra chided.

“It’s just a J, really,” Anthony muttered, shoving his sunglasses further up his face.

Further invasive questions were halted by the arrival of the food that was slammed down in front of them.

“Enjoy,” Shadwell said, as though it were a threat silently followed by “or else.”

Ezra smiled pleasantly. “I’m sure we will.”

“An’ take yer glasses off inside, boy!” He snatched the offending item off Anthony’s nose.

“Yes, sir! Sergeant, sir!” He straightened up and saluted.

“Sergeant?” Adam asked when Shadwell was safely back in the kitchen. “Was he in the military?”

He shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of. It’s just a nickname he got from the way he barks out orders.”

* * *

Ezra finished his pie and dabbed at his mouth as daintily as one could with paper napkins. He relaxed back into his chair with his fingers laced across his stomach and a pleased, sated look on his face. Anthony found this to be incredibly charming but realized he couldn’t just stare without a good reason, so he searched for a conversation topic. “So… you’ve got a food blog?”

Ezra’s cheeks went pink. “Ah, yes! It’s just a hobby really. Go to restaurants, eat good foods, and then write about it.”

“He’s being modest. There are quite a few followers!” Adam bragged about his godfather. “He’s been almost everywhere in London!”

Anthony perched his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Any favorites?”

“There have been a few memorable dishes, yes. There’s a bratwurst truck that’s delightful. My favorite boulangere is just outside of Saint James’ Park.”

“So you do mostly casual dining, then?”

“Oh no, to the contrary: I eat everywhere. It’s just not affordable to be a repeat customer at the fine dining places. The Ritz, for example. I’d love to go back, but their reservations are booked out so far in advance. Anyway, sometimes fine dining lacks the character and charm that family-owned restaurants have. I would trade comfort and community for innovation any day. Take Eden, for example. Have you heard of it?”  
Anthony’s stomach clenched at the name. “Yes.”

“It tasted less like fine dining and more like glorified vitamins.”

He snorted. That much was true.

“There was one dish I did like. It was an apple tart so good it was positively sinful.” Ezra’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as if he could still taste it. “Rumor has it that that dish cost them a chance for their first Michelin star! Such a shame. That tart was the best thing on that menu, if you ask me.” 

The memory of that debacle was enough to send Anthony into the deepest pits of despair, but something stopped him.

Ezra liked his cooking.

Ezra liked  _ his _ cooking.

_ Ezra _ liked his cooking.

Apparently he had been silent for too long because there was a sharp kick to his shin under the table that jolted him back. He glared across the table, but Adam took a sip of his drink as if nothing had happened.

Ezra didn’t appear to have noticed, as he was still talking. “One of my friends Pete just opened up an Italian restaurant, and I’ve been meaning to go. I’ve heard that he does remarkable things to oysters. Have you ever been?”

“I don’t get out much, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s alright. Maybe we can go together. I do owe you after all.” Ezra winked.

Anthony’s eyes nearly bugged out of this skull. Did he hear that right? Was he offering to go out to dinner again? Like… a date? “I… Guh…”

“Maybe we could go next week. It could be a Tuesday thing,” Adam suggested. “Or, maybe you two would like to go alone in case you want to—”

“I’m free on Thursdays,” Anthony blurted out. “Day after tomorrow. Eight? Too late? Too early?”

“Eight is perfect. I’ll give you my number so we can finalize the details.”

Anthony fumbled with his phone as he took it out of his pocket and did his best to ignore Adam’s knowing smirk. With that settled, they thanked Tracy and Shadwell on their way out and parted ways with a wave. Anthony watched them go until they turned a corner. He started off towards work. The sun had long since set, but the world seemed brighter than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL. I am so sorry it took me two months to make such a small update. Thank you so much for your reviews and patience. The next update will be sooner (I hope).
> 
> Feel free to come yell at me to update (or about anything else) on tumblr if you so choose. I'm @parmejeannecheese.


	3. Petit Déjeuner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry it's been yet another age, but here's an update (and a total chapter count)!
> 
> Also, this chapter comes with a content warning for suspected (but no actual) substance use. There's a summary of the scene in the end notes if you'd like.

“Anathema, we have a situation,” Newt said and snatched his girlfriend by the elbow.

She glanced at the line out the door. “Can the situation wait until after the morning rush?”

“No.” He nodded towards the back corner of the cafe.

Someone—Crowley, Anathema surmised based on the black clothes and red hair—was slumped over Ezra’s usual table, gangly legs splayed out such that they were a tripping hazard. She walked over and tapped his shoulder. He didn’t budge.

“Mr. Crowley? Sir?”

Nothing.

“Sir?” She spoke louder. “Are you alright?”

He snored in response. Anathema sighed and went back behind the counter.

“Well?” Newt asked. “Should we call an ambulance?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s asleep, not dead. I just checked to make sure he was breathing.”

“What about the police?”

“There’s no need for that! Let the poor man rest. He’s clearly exhausted.”

“We’re a cafe, not a hotel. Someone has to wake him up.”

“I just tried that, Newt! Do you want to give it a go?”

His eyes widened, the whites of his eyes fully visible. “Absolutely not!”

“Well, then, what do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know! You’re usually the one with the good ideas.”

“Good morning!” A cheerful, familiar voice called, interrupting their bickering. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing!” Newt said at the same time Anathema said, “Crowley!”

“Crowley?” Ezra asked.

“Another regular.” Anathema gestured over to the man who had managed to make a table into a bed. “He’s usually here when we first open, but he never stays. Today he just sort of plunked himself down in a chair and went to sleep. We’re really not sure what to do about it.”

“Oh! I know him.” He gave them a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. I can take care of this.”

Newt and Anathema exchanged a doubtful look. “If you say so.”

As he approached the table, Ezra smoothed his waistcoat and ran his fingers through his hair. It was completely unnecessary, but he couldn’t help it. With one last straightening of his bowtie, he crouched down by his side and gently shook his arm. “Anthony?”

“Nnnmmh?” He didn’t smell like alcohol or smoke, but that didn’t completely rule out the possibility of other substances.

“Anthony, are you alright?”

His head lifted off the table, glasses still on. “Wh’re ‘m I?”

Ezra’s heart sank. The poor man was so out of it that he didn’t even know where he was. At the very least, Ezra reasoned, he had picked a safe place to crash. “You’re at Nutter’s Cafe, my dear. You fell asleep at one of the tables.”

“Hmm.” Anthony removed his sunglasses, revealing little red grooves from where they had dug into his skin. He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyelids before blinking them open groggily. Ezra let out a soft gasp—and not just because they were bloodshot. Anthony’s eyes were brown, yes, but they had a darker rim at the edge of the iris that surrounded a warm amber center. They were soft and inviting in a way that betrayed his sharp exterior. Ezra hadn’t noticed that the night before.

“It’s you!” Anthony cried. The sunglasses were back on, and a flash of disappointment ran through Ezra. “What are you doing here?”

“I come here almost every morning. Newt and Anathema were worried about you, so I thought I’d check in.” Ezra resisted the urge to brush the rogue strand of hair back behind his ear. Why did he feel so protective of a man he’d only known for twelve hours? “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I am concerned. You don’t look well, Anthony. No matter what you’re struggling with, there are people who can help you. Can I walk you to the hospital? Or call you a cab?”

He stared back blankly. “Sorry. Why do I need medical assistance?”

“Are you not… erm,” Ezra cleared his throat, “coming down, as it were?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Coming down?” Then, he jolted upright. “No! No, it’s nothing like that.”

“It’s not?”

“It’s not,” Anthony confirmed. “I’m just very tired. I work nights.”

“Oh! I see.” The concern melted away. There was a perfectly innocent explanation for the circumstances.

“There’s a new bus boy. Kid’s got no idea what he’s doing, so I had to redo all the dishes. I didn’t finish until late. Or early? Whatever. Time is a social construct.” He dropped his head back into his hands. “God, I’m exhausted.”

“Can I walk you home?”

“Sure. Might be for the best.” He stood up and swayed. Ezra reflexively offered his arm, and Anthony grabbed on. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Ezra said, though the heat of the hand that radiated up his arm to his chest indicated that it might be at least a  _ little _ bit of a problem. “Where are we off to?”

“Not far. I live in Mayfair. South Kensington to Green Park and a short walk from there.”

They made their way to the station, Anthony’s feet dragging more with each step. It was towards the end of rush hour, so they were able to snag two open seats on the train. The moment they pulled out of the station, Anthony nodded off. He jerked up, only to droop back down moments later.

“It’s alright,” Ezra reassured him. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“‘Kay.” Anthony’s head lolled against his shoulder, warm exhalations tickling the hairs on Ezra’s neck.

Ezra was a gentleman, and he prided himself upon being one. Part of being a gentleman was resisting the urge to indulge in fantasies about men who used his shoulder as a pillow. And yet he couldn’t help but imagine domestic bliss, waking up with soft red hair beneath his chin, reading with a pair of spindly legs on his lap. Anthony may have been the one sleeping, but Ezra was the one who was dreaming.

“Mind the gap between the train and the platform,” the announcement said. “This is Green Park.”

“This is our stop, my dear.” Ezra helped him up, one arm around his waist for support. Anthony groaned but didn’t resist. The walk was slow and clumsy, but Ezra found the closeness of the almost-hug to be intoxicating. He held on in the lift that went so fast his ears popped. He held on in the foyer that had sleek modern furniture. He even held on in the bedroom as Anthony kicked off his shoes and threw his sunglasses onto the night stand.

“Thanksss for walking me home,” Anthony said, collapsing atop the dark silk sheets.

“My pleasure,” Ezra said, a little too honestly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Anthony’s eyes slid closed “Tomorrow.”

“Good night, my dear.”

“Good night, angel.”

Ezra let himself out quietly and waited for the lift. He rested with his back against the wall as he returned to street level. A cold, aching loneliness settled into his bones. Had it always been there, and he just hadn’t been aware of it? Or was it something new, something that started when he met Anthony? That was silly, especially for a man of his age. He shook his head, a self-deprecating sigh between his lips.

His stomach growled. “Oh, bugger! I never got my cocoa.”

* * *

“Welcome back.” Anathema was waiting for him with a hot cocoa and croissant she’d set aside for him.

Ezra took the seat opposite her and settled in. “Thank you, my dear.”

She gave him a thorough look over. “Did something happen? You were gone quite a while. And your vest looks a little rumpled.”

“It does not!” He ran a palm down the front of it anyway. “What are you implying?”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “You know. Come on, Ezra. Spill.”

“Nothing happened!”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Ezra tipped his head back, the last of the drink spilling out. Neither the cup nor the napkin that touched his lips could conceal the flush of his cheeks.

She smirked knowingly. “Your aura’s different.  _ Something _ happened.”

He huffed. “Nothing exciting. We met when I went to pick up Adam from his cooking class. Anthony—Crowley, as you know him—is the instructor. Adam suggested that he join us for dinner, so we went to Pott’s Pies. I was going to treat him, but I had given away my money to a young, lost soul, so Anthony covered us. I couldn’t leave a favor like that unrepaid, so I invited him to go to Pete’s new place.”

“Like on a date?” Anathema squealed.

“Good heavens, no! I just met him. That would be much too fast.”

“It’s not too fast if you like him.”

He gasped, mildly scandalized. “I do not like him! His hair, for starters. It does look very soft, but it’s almost long enough to be in a man bun. And the sunglasses. Why does he insist on hiding such gorgeous eyes? Don’t even get me started on the tattoos!”

“I think you’ve gotten yourself started.”

“It’s not fair of me to judge based on appearances, I suppose. He was polite and a good listener. Madame Tracy seems to think of him as her own son, and Adam likes him, which counts for a lot. It was awfully kind of him to pay for our meals.” Ezra froze, and Anathema watched the revelation play out on his face . “Oh, dear. I  _ do _ like him.”

She clapped her hands gleefully. “This is so exciting!”

“It’s terrifying. What if he doesn’t like me?”

“How could he not like you? You’re adorable!”

He blushed. “You are too kind to me, my dear.”

“You aren’t kind to yourself, so I do it for the both of us,” Anathema said matter-of-factly. “Besides, if he doesn’t like you, that’s his loss.”

“It would be mine too,” he said, looking down at his hands. His shoulders sagged as he shrunk into himself. “Maybe it’s for the best if we are just friends. I don’t want to risk it.”

Anathema’s heart twinged in sympathy. She reached across the table and placed her hand on top of his. “Ezra. Don’t you remember what you said to me when I started crushing on Newt?”

He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes.

“You told me that every great love story begins with someone being brave. So be brave, okay?”

“It’s really no wonder I’m still single!” His head clonked onto the table where Anthony’s had been not an hour before. “I haven’t done a single brave thing in my life.”

“First of all, that’s a lie.” She paused to consider her next words. “I didn’t mean to put a lot of pressure on you. When I said ‘be brave,’ I meant that you have to go out to dinner with him and see if you’d like to go out together again sometime. Nothing monumental. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. It’s a meal, not a marriage proposal.” She gave his hand a little squeeze. “So maybe don’t be brave. Just be yourself. Enjoy the food. Get to know each other a little bit better.”

Ezra lifted his head up, his gaze meeting hers. “Okay. That seems much more manageable. I can do that.”

“And maybe,” she leaned in, grinning with all of her teeth, “if it all goes well, he’ll walk you home, and you’ll stop on the front steps under the streetlamps. He’ll gaze into your eyes, lean closer, and then you’ll—”

“—my croissant!” he cried. “It’s fresh out of the oven. I should eat it while it’s still hot.”

Anathema laughed but eased back into her chair. She looked forward to Friday morning when she could prod him about the details of his date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Newt and Anathema see Anthony asleep at one of their tables and worry that he is under the influence. Ezra check on him, and Anthony is just a sleepy boi exhausted from his shift. If you'd like to skip that scene, find the line that begins with "There's a new bus boy." It's about 1/3-1/2 down.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through the wild update schedule! I know there's a lot going on in the world, but I hope this chapter brought you a little bit of joy. Feel free to leave a comment!


End file.
